Honour

Gladekeeper’s Call - The Vessel; Journey of the UnCalled
(The Vessel and the Burden, Honour’s POV)

Power. Purpose. Strength. Control. Honour.
Fear.

Those were the values his clan lived by, and only the strongest hatchlings received names of worth, and they were expected to uphold them or die. They were gods.Their Progenitors were, and their offspring would be.

In their clan, there was nothing lacking. No imperfections, no disappointments. There was no reference to any who were not.

They did not exist.

The blood-red Guardian upheld his name, in constant awareness. He was *their* guardian, the guarantor of their perfection. Nothing passed his attention, escaped his notice, and by his honour, he told what he saw in truth.

He remembered that day as one of high expectation. The most perfect of the perfect were to have yet another chance to prove themselves.
For there was no standing on past achievements. There must be more. Always more. And he was guarantor of that, too. The first bloody gauntlet each must pass.

He was not alone, going about his single tasks of strengthening. None of them were alone,or rather, felt alone. They had no word for the feeling of solitude, except for the fleeting satisfaction of not being watched. To want to be with another, with others, being watched, was left behind with hatchling days, with the knowing of what being with others meant. What being watched, meant.

Judgement, sure and swift and fearsome. Alhazred, Starsong, Rakyth, their Tribunal. Honour their bailiff. And none escaped them.

As expected, few remained standing that day. Fewer to the Exalt, for they only gave their best. Quazar stood alone among his get remaining; a mate-to-be chosen, an absence unremarked.

To his surprise, he found one had escaped his laser-sight. Their perfect, cold and pure shell of stars, of surpassing strength among his kin, with Prince’s silver tracery ensorceled,engaged in war-play among them. One was hurt, and instead of marking weakness, observing and reporting it, the hatchling stopped and reached out to touch in hesitant query.

That could not be. The infection must not be allowed to spread here. They were no longer safe, from the seed within that called to the darkness. The hoped-for perfection, the purity, lost in a moment.

And by all honour, he had to mark the weakness observed. Perhaps the arcane All-Father would mark their weakness, too, and seek another clan to try again. In any case, there was no word spoken. No escort, no farewell. It mattered not, who might be unlucky enough to cross a starswept path, as long as it was not *them*.

And yet, he continued watching, not letting any know he watched what did not exist.

And when he left, another took his place as bailiff, as Watcher. He could not help the ache within, that pulled, unexpected. The only Search their clan acknowledged, was one that served the gods they were. No other existed.

He kept his distance, that was all he knew. But he Watched, as the starswept imperfection wandered, stumbled, toiled, and moved on. Tired, hungry bereft of help from any source, but not seeking it. Such was their way, and by all honour, he too would uphold it. Even now, however long the journey, whatever its end. But strength is what he witnessed, and perseverance beyond any he had seen. It seemed, his first assessment was not the mistake he had imagined. Perhaps his father would be pleased, if he knew.

Honour witnessed, finally, the starswept’s encounter with a lone Sentinel. Knew himself caught in that all-seeing gaze, even as the Sentinel walked away, unconcerned at his presence. The youngling, hatchling no longer, followed, as did he.

Their way was strange, he could not ken it. He kept his distance, and they left him undisturbed. Watched by the Sentinel, of course, but in a way that felt...unfamiliar, without expectation. But there was no way forward, for him. He realized at last that the starswept one had been his charge all along, that his Search had been quiescent because he had been already there, serving him, serving his people.

That was what he knew. But with his charge in other claws but his, what was his purpose? Where was he meant to be? He stood confused, in a place he did not know, home a place to be from, not to go back to. They would laugh him to scorn if he tried.

His compass was sure, pointing in one direction only. He could not ignore it, his entire being pulsed with it, in all honour held to it.

But he did not belong here.


(Mate with savagestrike -future possibly)
(From Schingiuire)